Knuts
by youcanreachthestars
Summary: "As the last shreds of light quickly drained from Diagon Alley, the night life began to appear. Shadows, hunched over, crept out of the cracks between the buildings. Draco's eyes widened, and he strayed towards the nearest one, transfixed." Oneshot.


**A/N: Hi everyone! This is my first competitive fic from the HPFC, Random Mumble's '****The Disney-Song Competition.' Mine's based on the beautiful song from The Hunchback Of Notre Dame, _God Help The Outcasts_. Hope you can see the connections.**

**Disclaimer: Don't own HP or any of the characters.**

**Enjoy!**

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It was dusk on Diagon Alley, and the bustle from the early afternoon rush had died down. The air was bathed in a lilac hue, slowly darkening to a dull grey. The shops were all closed but a few, right up the end near the Shrieking Shack, and the shopkeepers of those were closing up shop as quickly as they could, glancing around warily as though expecting to be attacked. You never knew in these times. Even though You-Know-Who had been gone for eight years, there was still evil in the wizarding world. Nobody was safe, and anything was possible.

Scraps of paper cartwheeled down the paved stones, caught up by a chilling gust of wind, though the evening itself was mild. Signs above shop doors swung gently, creaking a warning to any civilians still around. But there was no need. The streets were empty. Deserted completely. Except for two figures, moving in out of the darkness, their faces unidentifiable due to the lack of light. One was tall and slender, walking quickly past the rows of shops, without looking up. He wore a long black cloak, the hood covering his face, making him even more indistinct. Tagging behind him was a small figure, about the size of an eight year old, calling out desperately.

"Dad! Hey, Dad, please wait up!" The two figures passed under a street lamp, and their faces were thrown into dim relief. The taller figure, with long, silvery-white hair and a sharp pointed nose, would have been a fairly handsome man, were it not for the look of disgust and impatience stamped all over his face. The younger one was almost a mirror image of his father, yet with shortly cropped hair, and wide, grey eyes which held nothing but plaintive innocence.

"Daddy, please!" Lucius Malfoy paused for a brief moment, more for the sake of making his son be silent than to actually let him catch up, then began striding down the street again.

"Draco, we must make it to the Hogs Head before it reaches eight o'clock. There is no time for us to dawdle. Now, move along!"

The young boy trailed after his father, stumbling slightly on the uneven paving stones.

"Can't I maybe-"

"No."

Draco, infuriated, scuffed the ground with his trainer. His father never let him do anything, and now he had to come along on this infuriating expedition to the Hogs Head, which, for him, served no purpose. It was just for his father to meet up to do some business, which he wouldn't tell Draco about, either. Defiantly, he scampered to the gutter of the alley, and walked along the ledge, balancing, with his arms out wide. He deliberately waved his arms about, hoping to catch his father's eye, but he was ignored. Lucius Malfoy merely continued advancing up the street. Draco jumped off the edge, and began to walk along the groove between the sidewalk next to the shops and the road. As he walked, he kicked up the rubbish lying in the trench. Broken wands, discarded wrappers, old Wanted posters of Death Eaters.

Suddenly, Draco kicked something hard, slamming his toe into it. He yowled, and then glanced up at his father hopefully, but he still didn't turn around. Draco sighed, and knelt down carefully, foraging through the muck to find what he had walked into. His hands groped blindly through the rubbish, closing on an incredible variety of things, before finally grasping a small drawstring bag. He withdrew it from the litter, and held it up in the dying light. There was nothing special about it, it was merely heavy, and clinked when he shook it. He swiftly pulled the strings, and emptied the contents of the bad into his waiting palms- Money! There were about twenty Knuts sitting in the bag, discarded on the side of the alley.

"Dad, Dad! Look Dad, I found-"

"DRACO! We have to get there before eight o'clock for the meeting, and you _know_ I want to meet up with Travers beforehand to discuss something important to our whole family's welfare! I don't care what you have; just forget it and more on!"

Draco hissed under his breath, and tucked the Knuts into his cloak pocked.

As the last shreds of light quickly drained from Diagon Alley, the night life began to appear. Shadows, hunched over, crept out of the cracks between the buildings. Not animals- humans. Draco's eyes widened even further, and he strayed towards the nearest one, transfixed.

Lucius noticed them quickly, and turned to find his son. He stared with horror as Draco moved slowly towards one as though in a trance. Filthy, good for nothing beggars- outcasts from the wizarding world! They should all be locked up! Setting bad examples to all in the wizarding community, giving purebloods a bad name. For yes, shamefully, a few were purebloods.

"Draco!" His son twitched, but did not turn. "Draco, come here!" His head turned slightly, then he seemed to shake it, and mutter something under his breath. He stopped a few metres away from the beggar.

"Dad, who are these people?"

"Beggars, Draco. Have nothing to do with them. They are merely outcasts. See how they crowd the once empty streets? This is all they are good for. Polluting the street, and thus, the world."

Draco scoffed. He took two small steps, until he stood right in front of the first beggar. He could hear the complaints and orders of his father coming from behind him, but they were dim, incomprehensible. He ignored them, and reached into his pocket.

He withdrew the small bag of Knuts from the folds of his cloak, and tipped one out onto his waiting palm. He could feel his father's furious glare boring into the back of his head, but he disregarded it, focusing all his attention onto the hunched man in front of him.

"Who are you?"

"Young man, my name is G- Gerth."

"Take this then, Gerth." Draco held out the coin, and it was received with shaking hands. The man croaked out a thankyou, his voice trembling with gratitude.

"It's not often we get nice young men like you taking pity on us. Hardly anybody does that nowadays. Everyone believes that we pollute the wizarding world, but it's not our fault we're like this. We're trying to rid it of pollution, we're trying to get rid of You-Know-Who. He's the one's who's really polluting the world. Everyone calls us outcasts, young man, but do you know, we once had hopes and dreams as well."

Draco opened his mouth to reply, feeling the words on his tongue, but before he could say anything, they were jerked out from between his teeth, as his father dragged him back to the centre of the alley.

"You little idiot! What do you think you're doing, talking to them! What did you give him?"

Wordlessly, Draco held out the bag.

"_Money!_ You gave them _money!_ Well then, wasn't that _nice?_" Draco didn't miss the cutting sarcasm in his father's voice. It sliced through him like a knife. But it didn't sway him. He raised his head to his father's, his boyish face tight with determination and defiance. He snatched the drawstring bag out of his father's loose grasp, and ran back to the edge.

Lucius gave a sudden shout, and made to run after his son, but the eight year old's quick young legs were too fast for him. He fumbled in his cloak pocket for his wand, fury bubbling up inside him, ready to erupt. But then, he stopped. Stowed his wand back in his pocked. He was still furious, but this would be a good time for a life lesson. One his son had to learn sooner or later.

Draco, terrified now that he had disobeyed his father and gone against his wishes so greatly, was running on adrenaline. As he ran past the rows and rows of outcasts, he handed each a Knut, and muttered something under his breath as he ran.

"God help you… God help you… God help you…" The words were jerky and indecipherable, but Draco knew what he was saying, even if the beggars didn't. He reached the last beggar, and handed him the last Knut. "God help you." The filthy old man crouched in the gutter glared up at him from bloodshot eyes, then nodded his thanks. His grimy fingers closed tightly around the small bronze coin, and it disappeared into the folds of his tattered clothes.

Draco gave a quick glance into the depths of the bag, and saw the dull glint of one last coin. He debated what to do with it for a moment, then ran back to his father, and held it out as an offering on an outstretched palm.

"I saved one for you, Dad!" Lucius snarled, his top lip curling up in contempt. He raised his arm, and knocked the coin out of his son's hand, sending it clattering to the ground, where it spun on its edge for a moment, then lay still.

"Are you my son? Are you a Malfoy?" Draco's eyes were fixed on his fathers, unable to move them.

"Yes Daddy."

"Do you care about our family name?"

"Yes Daddy."

"Well then. It's time I taught you a little lesson. One every pureblood worth his salt must know. What were you saying to them?" Draco mumbled something. "What?"

"God help you. God help the outcasts."

"Right. Listen to me, son." Lucius' eyes were cold and hard, like flat grey pebbles. "They have all been fighting against the Dark Lord since the beginning. Do you understand me? Since the very beginning. None of them have ever been on our side, nor have they ever fought against Dumbledore or the Order of the Phoenix. They are all bad."

"But I thought they were good! Diggory from down the road said they were-"

"You're forbidden to ever speak to that boy again. Listen. They. Are. All. Bad. Including Diggory, or any of his family. You need to fight WITH the Dark Lord and his followers, like me, not against them. Otherwise, you will end up like those beggars. Outcasts. They're like that because they were once generous too, and gave away their money. You need to be proud, Draco, and keep to yourself. Only give to those of value, such as your family.

"But Daddy, what if they want to change?"

"Don't be so stupid, son. They brought this upon themselves by picking the wrong side. They deserve this. They're fighting a losing battle. Don't feel sorry for them. Learn to hate them, and not to pity them. It's all they deserve."

Draco nodded, and held the door open for his father as they entered the Hogs Head. But just as Draco was about to follow his father through, he ducked back a few metres, knelt down, and groped for the coin in the darkness. He felt the smoothness under his fingertips, and tucked it into his pocket.

After all, it was only a Knut.


End file.
